


The Gants Hill Variation

by Scriblit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mornington Crescent, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriblit/pseuds/Scriblit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had come as a surprise to Greg that Sherlock was actually rather awkward about sex. Together, they decided on a game that would help him relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gants Hill Variation

**Author's Note:**

> A few years ago I set myself the challenge of writing a game of Mornington Crescent into some smut, and this was the result.

The Gants Hill Variation

-x-

The smooth, warm length of the erection, slick with his spit between his lips – the smell of it, the taste, the feel of it running over his tongue, and his lover’s hips in his hands.

Mmm.

He didn’t do this anywhere near often enough. Why didn’t he do this more often? This felt good. This felt very good. The joy of giving. And now for the really good bit – the expression of delight on the face of the one receiving the gift. He glanced up, hoping to catch his lover’s face glowing beatifically with physical and sexual bliss as a result of the unscheduled blowjob.

Instead, he saw that Sherlock was checking his phone as though absolutely nothing of interest was going on below his beltline.

Greg pulled out and sat back, gazing up at him, indignantly. ‘I’m sorry, am I boring you?’

‘A little,’ admitted Sherlock, blankly, ‘yes.’

‘Well, you might have said something instead of letting me kneel here like a plum for the last five minutes.’

‘Three and a half minutes,’ corrected Sherlock, ‘and honestly, Lestrade, I thought you were clever enough to get the message without me having to tell you everything.’

Greg opened his mouth to remind Sherlock how unsettling he found being called by his surname in sexual situations, then decided that Sherlock would either ignore this or find it amusing to do it all the more. No – much better to concentrate on Sherlock’s argument, and his body’s contradiction of his insistence that the blowjob was leaving him cold.

‘I was at the tail end of you, Sherlock. And that half of you doesn’t seem bored at all.’ He ran index finger and thumb down the other man’s full erection, to prove his point.

‘Oh,’ sighed Sherlock, wearily. ‘That. Don’t let that give you the wrong idea – that was for your benefit. I can do that at will.’

‘No you can’t.’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘No you can’t. Penises don’t work that way.’

‘Mine does.’

‘No, it doesn’t! It’s not a magic penis, Sherlock!’

‘Well, carry on then, if you think you’re doing such a splendid job.’

‘No, I don’t want to, now.’ Greg got to his feet. ‘Christ, Sherlock. I was just trying to do something a bit different to the same old routine.’

‘The “same old routine” seems to suit you perfectly adequately. I thought it satisfied you.’

‘That’s the point,’ argued Greg. ‘I wanted to do something for you, for my sins. I just thought it might be nice.’

‘”Nice”?’ Sherlock screwed up his face in distaste. ‘Lestrade, cushions are “nice”. Darjeeling is “nice”. Those pink wafer biscuits Mrs Hudson always gets are “nice”. You are neither a cushion, nor tea, nor a pink wafer. This arrangement is not supposed to be “nice”.’

‘Yes,’ Greg snapped, ‘I get that, now. So, what? Rough trade over the desk again, same as always?’

‘That would be my preference, as ever.’

‘Isn’t that getting a bit repetitive for you, though? Isn’t it getting a bit… boring?’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘Going to the toilet’s repetitive, but I don’t feel the need to spice that up every time I get the urge to go.’

‘Jesus Christ, Sherlock, is that was this is to you?’

‘Look.’ Sherlock got to his feet. ‘It’s something that I feel the urge to do, but that I’m not terribly comfortable about. I told you what it is that I want, and I’ve no interest in deviating from it right now, OK? It’s like… it’s like me and food, when I’ve finished a case and there’s nothing about to eat from but the vending machine.’

‘You always get salt and vinegar crisps and a Twix,’ said Greg.

‘Exactly. I like Salt and Vinegar crisps and a Twix. I know I won’t get any unpleasant surprises with Salt and Vinegar crisps and a Twix. Salt and Vinegar crisps and a Twix might seem rather an odd choice of meal to the outside observer, but it’s what I want and that’s what I like, so I don’t see why I should change that.’

‘And me screwing you over the desk is Salt and Vinegar crisps?’

‘And a Twix. Yes. Repetitive, perhaps, but suited to my needs. And certainly not “nice”. I don’t want “nice”. Speaking of which…’ Sherlock nodded over to the desk. ‘Shall we?’

Greg sighed. At least Sherlock had given up on trying to get him to do this at his desk at work. He’d complained bitterly when Greg had brought him back to his place, but had been rather amused by the fact that he had an office in his flat, which had distracted him nicely. Greg remembered the pleased expression he’d had on noting aloud that Lestrade would probably be better off just having a flat put into his office than the other way round. That had been shortly before Greg had slammed him onto said desk and had a very fun ten minutes getting Sherlock to say nothing but ‘Jesus Fuck’, and not in a particularly smug tone of voice at that.

That had been eight months ago. And now… it wasn’t as if Greg was bored of “Salt and Vinegar Crisps and a Twix”, as such, it’s just that he wished maybe sometimes the crisp packet could be opened upside down, or even that the Twix could be eaten before the crisps. He knew full well, Sherlock would never want to do those things, metaphorically or literally. It still took around ten minutes to bring them both off, sodomising him over the desk, Sherlock still never really said anything but ‘Jesus Fuck’ as they were doing it, and Greg always had to do him from behind. He never got to see Sherlock’s expression.

Well. That was one thing he could change. Just this once. Just a slight alteration. Sherlock couldn’t really complain about that, now could he…?

Who was he kidding? Of course Sherlock was going to complain. He was determined to go through with it, though. This time, when he pushed Sherlock down onto his desk, he kept the other man face-up. Sherlock tried to twist himself around, but Greg pushed his back down flat on the desk again.

‘What are you doing?’

‘A slight deviation from the norm,’ Lestrade replied.

‘You want us to gaze longingly into one another’s eyes while you bugger me?’ Sherlock asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘How very Brideshead Revisited of you. Dreary, Lestrade. Dreary and Nice.’

Greg leaned in to him. ‘Shut up,’ he ordered, noting the little quirk of Sherlock’s mouth as he did so. If only he’d discovered Sherlock found being held down and told to shut up arousing years ago. He could have saved a fortune in scotch and cigarettes.

‘I thought you liked to experiment,’ added Lestrade, sliding his hand down between Sherlock’s legs. ‘Let’s call this a little experiment.’

Sherlock paused, then shook his head. ‘Done face to face before. Didn’t care for it.’

‘But not with me.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Wrong, Sherlock.’

Second drawer of his desk. A pot of Vaseline. Same place that it always was. Finger in, finger out, back to Sherlock.

‘Don’t be boring, Sherlock.’

Finger in. Hot tight and a shudder at his touch. Just like always. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. Did he always do that? Greg didn’t know.

Second finger, gently, gently. Sherlock kept his eyes tightly shut, and grimaced.

Slow sliding fingers, simulating the movements of his cock that were to come. Sherlock shook his head, sharply.

‘Stop.’

Greg stopped.

‘Don’t like this. I want to turn over.’

‘But you can’t even see me,’ Greg complained, ‘you’ve got your eyes shut.’

‘You can see me. I don’t like it.’

‘Sherlock, give it a chance. Do you want me to turn the light off?’

‘Your vision will only accustomise itself to the dark. You’ll still be able to see me.’ Sherlock paused. ‘Put a bag over my head. I think I can cope with that.’

‘Jesus! I’m not going to do that!’

‘I’m not asking you to suffocate me – you’ve got one of those woven Bags For Life in the hallway. That’ll suffice.’

‘I’m not putting a bag on your head, Sherlock! I just want to see your face for a change, that’s all.’

Sherlock frowned, and shook his head again.

‘Is that why you don’t care for blowjobs?’ asked Greg. ‘Is that what that stupid business with the phone was about earlier? Because we could see one another?’

Sherlock paused, taking a deep breath and refusing to meet Greg’s gaze.

‘It was making me nervous, all right? I needed a distraction.’

Before he’d started having sex with Sherlock, the idea of the man feeling nervous about anything would have made Lestrade cry with laughter. The more intimate they had become, however, the more he had discovered about Sherlock’s discomfort with his own body as a human machine with human needs. He didn’t laugh about this now. He tried to add it to the ever growing list in his memory of things about Sherlock that made Sherlock nervous, and wondered if said list would ever stop being updated.

‘Fine,’ replied Greg. ‘So what if I give you a distraction? Would that help?’

‘It might.’ Sherlock reached for his phone again.

‘Not your bloody phone. Something we can do together to distract you. Just you and me.’

Sherlock shrugged, putting his phone down again. ‘Something like Eye Spy, you mean?’

‘Not Eye Spy.’

‘You said it should be a distraction that we can do together.’

‘Yes, but firstly, I’m supposed to be taking you to Heaven and back, not on a family car trip to Stoke…’

Lestrade paused as Sherlock snorted a laugh.

‘And secondly,’ he continued, ‘I swore I’d never try to play Eye Spy with you ever again after that two hour traffic jam at the Blackwall Tunnel.’

‘That was years ago!’

‘And yet, it still haunts me.’ Greg chewed at his lip. A whimsical thought entered his mind, and was out of his mouth before he had chance to check it. ‘If it’s a game you’re after, I don’t suppose you play Mornington Crescent…?’

‘Oh, please,’ snapped Sherlock, ‘what sort of idiot do you take me for?’

‘It was just a suggestion…’

‘You don’t suppose I play?’ Sherlock’s face was a picture of indignation. ‘I’ll have you know I was approached to edit the Gants Hill Variation Edition in 1996.’

‘Not the Mauve Almanac?’ asked Greg, impressed.

Sherlock sighed, irritably. ‘It was Taupe in 96.’

‘Oh, of course. I forgot that was a Leap Year.’ Lestrade paused. ‘So…?’

‘So…?’

‘I’m no Taupe Almanac Editor, but I’m pretty good at it. Hammersmith & City Level.’

‘Hammersmith, eh?’ Sherlock nodded, more to himself than to Greg. ‘I suppose that might provide adequate distraction for the nine minutes our fornication usually takes.’

‘So glad, Sherlock. Shall I start?’

‘Do.’

He returned his finger, gently. Again, the heat, the tightness, the promise of what was to come. Again, the shudder. Again, Sherlock closed his eyes tight.

He leaned in to Sherlock. ‘Hangar Lane,’ he murmured.

Sherlock opened one eye and gave him a withering look. ‘”Hangar Lane”? Really? What an obvious opening move. This is going to be like playing against a ten year old, isn’t it? Chorleywood.’

A second finger - his other hand running slowly over Sherlock’s hips. ‘Covent Garden.’

Sherlock snorted. ‘I thought you said you were good at this. Finsbury Park.’

The hand on Sherlock’s hip moved down and across until it found a clutch of thick hair. ‘Shepherd’s Bush.’

Sherlock’s lips twitched into a faint smile as his own hand ghosted over Greg’s erection. ‘Cockfosters.’

Hoisting one of Sherlock’s legs up, Greg gave the inside of his thigh a lightning lick. ‘Marble Arch.’

Sherlock’s fingers grew firmer, but teasing still, on Greg’s erection. ‘Monument.’

Greg pulled Sherlock’s hand off him and moved his cock down to where his own fingers still played. He retracted his fingers and positioned himself. Sherlock’s eyes were open when he looked down at him. ‘Upminster,’ he said, and began to slowly push.

‘Ah,’ managed Sherlock, ‘Arse… Jesus Fuck…’

‘It that your move, Sherlock?’ Asked Greg, holding himself still inside the other man. ‘Because that’s not a move.’

‘Arsenal,’ whispered Sherlock.

‘Interesting.’ Greg began to rock both himself and Sherlock, his hands tight on the other man’s hips. ‘Kew Gardens then, I suppose.’

‘Angel.’

‘Mansion House.’

‘Parsons Green.’

‘Dagenham East. Dammit. You’re good.’

Sherlock suddenly grinned, sadistically.

‘Don’t, warned Greg, ‘I know what you’re thinking. Just, don’t.’

‘Kensington,’ beamed Sherlock.

‘Don’t you dare…’

‘Olympia!’

‘Oh, Greg seethed. ‘You bastard. You absolute… Dollis Hill.’

‘Bethnal Green.’

‘Dollis Hill.’

‘Brent Cross.’

‘Dollis Hill.’

‘Canning Town.’

‘You’re just toying with me, now, aren’t you, Sherlock?’

‘Ha ha ha,’ sang Sherlock, merrily.

‘Get me out of the Dollis Hill Loop.’

‘Shan’t,’ replied Sherlock, primly. ‘You got yourself into the loop, you get yourself out of it.’

‘Get me out.’ He tugged on Sherlock’s hair gently, to further his point.

‘No. Chigwell. Ow.’

Greg pulled a little harder. ‘Dollis Hill. Get me out of it, Sherlock.’

‘No! Euston Square. Ow!’

‘Dollis Hill,’ Greg forced through gritted teeth, Pulling Sherlock’s hair as hard as he dared.

‘Ah! Fine! Elephant and Castle, since it means so much to you.’

‘Thank you. Pimlico.’

‘Bromley-by-Bow,’ gasped Sherlock. The hair pulling had clearly speeded up the process. Greg could tell by the tenseness of Sherlock’s body that he was close.

‘Preston Road.’

‘You crossed a double diagonal.’

‘I’m allowed. I’m in Spon.’

‘No, you’re not.’

Greg gave Sherlock a light slap to the cheek. ‘We’re both Capricorns, remember? That puts me in Spon.’

‘Oh, of course,’ panted Sherlock. ‘Seven Sisters.’

‘Is that really the best you can do?’

‘I mean, Fairlop!’

‘Too late to change it now,’ grinned Greg, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s penis and stroking it in time with the rhythm of their rocking. ‘East Finchley. Endgame, Sherlock. Block me if you can.’

‘Uxbrige.’

‘Not good enough. Tottenham Hale.’

‘Clapham South…?’

Greg shook his head. ‘Should have gone with Stockwell.’

‘No.’

‘Sorry, Sherlock.’

‘No!’

Greg grinned, pounding hard into Sherlock and masturbating him with a tight fist. ‘Mornington…’

‘No…’

‘…Crescent.’

‘Ah! Jesus Fuck!’ Sherlock threw his head back, his eyes still open, as he came into Greg’s hand. Greg came quickly after, silently into the tense, shuddering body around him.

Sherlock sighed happily as Greg pulled out. ‘Good game. Short, but most stimulating.’

‘We should play by Aldgate Rules next time,’ added Greg, ‘if you fancy a more leisurely pace. Not to mention, opening up the DLR.’

‘All right.’ Sherlock pushed himself up from the desk. ‘And maybe next time I won’t let you win so easily.’

‘You didn’t let me win.’

‘Of course I did.’

‘No you didn’t.’

‘Yes. I did.’

-x-

THE END


End file.
